The Future Trials of Chris Markely
by Stirack
Summary: What happens when you bring home a 19th century eccentric in modern day north eastern United States? He take over your basement and learns the wonders of modern tech, that's what. One-shot, good, clean, Disney-bashing fun.


**Hello again! This is just a little oneshot I wrote a while back. I just felt like jumping ahead in Souvenirs from Paris one day, so situations like this are ****_in_**** the story, yet not a scene I'll write in the fanfic itself. Enjoy! Read, review, and favorite if you love!**

"...Erik... What happened to my basement...?"  
See. This is what I get for leaving him home alone all day while I TRIED to further my education in collage and not live in a cardboard box ten years from now.  
Ugg.  
The convenience of electricity had yet to be acknowledged by my masked maestro- in fact the light bulbs had been unscrewed from their sockets in the ceiling and thrown into the wastepaper can. All of the little decorative candles my mother had so painstakingly placed in my 'lair' (Luna-sama already stole the 'Bat Cave'...) to make it seem remotely livable- since it was where I always seemed to lay around in the house- were now steadily burning down in little pewter trays to nothingness and so with it their lovely decorative quality. I'm thinking about getting a shock collar to wrap around Erik's scrawny little throat...  
"Oh! Good afternoon, my dear, or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say 'Good evening' since-" his ornate silver pocket watch seemed to appear out of thin air in his bony hand as he checked the time, "It is nearly six o'clock. My goodness, you are rather late. I was going to put tea on the samovar for when you arrived home, but all I could seemed to find was a dreadfully ugly contraption stuck in between the counters in the kitchen. It also made a rather obnoxious beeping noise when I poked it." His thin lips set into an amusing pout.  
I groaned aloud, palm to forehead in frustration, and ran my hand down my face in a manner which stretch my feature in a comical way. Trust me, I know. I'd done it in front of a mirror once to make sure it was funny.  
"Erik..." I spoke slowly and deliberately, as if to a particularly dull-witted child. "What EXACTLY have you been doing all day?" He crossed his long legs in a lounging manner, folding his arms in his lap neatly.  
"Well," he began in that perfectly aloof manner I knew only too well he used when proud of himself. "If you must know, Chris, I tantalizingly analyzed and learned the mystery to your moving picture box over there," he pointed to the television set. "And I must say it was utterly, disturbingly VULGAR. How in God's name is anything on FX besides the occasional half-decent film remotely entertaining to the human race?" Though what I guessed would be a quirky scowl covering his whole face was reflected in those disapproving, saffron eyes. "The only thing I found remotely entertaining about it was after I figured out how to use the film box in the cabinet." I realized he meant the aging VCR player, which had seen better days.  
If he broke it, I was going to give into the insistent nagging of my somewhat not-so-right mind and throttle him.  
"And let me tell you," he continued, standing and pointing a finger at me, "I find that 'Disney', or whatever the hell you call it, will never allow me to look at 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', the same ever again!"  
I was going to have a permanent red mark on my forehead from all the face-to-palms I was doing today. "You bloody twit..." I grated between my teeth. "DISNEY MAKES FILMS FOR CHILDREN! THAT'S WHY THE STORIES ARE DUMBED DOWN YOU GREAT ASS!" He shook his head vigorously in protest.  
"Now, wait just a moment, mademoiselle. Making a movie for children is no excuse to ruin a wonderfully tragic story! Victor Hugo must be turning in his grave!"  
At that moment, I was itching to show him the bloody awful 'Wishbone' Phantom episode. Tempting, but not too much mental scarring for my already mentally scarred beyond repair psycho musician in one day. (Oh, Wishbone, I love you but... but... NO. JUST NO.)  
Erik's raving and ranting pulled me back to my sorry little reality.  
"And don't even get me started on that awful portrayal of 'Beauty and the Beast'! WHAT FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS MUSICAL WAS THAT?!" And the raving continued.  
For a LONG time.  
This was why I didn't give Erik the chance to rant. (God... The poor Persian must have gone through hell and back just LISTENING to this guy for so many years... I'm not even counting all the other crap Daroga has told me!)  
What I really wanted to scream right now: Erik... SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP! NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS! ... NOT EVEN OPRAH WOULD GIVE A RAT'S ASS!  
I only caught a handful of the sentences he was spewing forth in his rage at seeing his classics gone to the hills, but one made me begin to cry and roll around on the floor with laughter.  
"THE ONLY REMOTELY GOOD FILM I WATCHED TODAY WAS THE BLOODY ALAMO! THE ONLY REASON IT WAS ANY GOOD WAS BECAUSE I HATE AMERICANS AND THEY ALL BLOODY DIED IN THE END!" He tugged at his waistcoat in irritation. "If only my wish of, "Die you bloody damned blond dandy right now, or I through my shoe at you" had worked on the Vicomte in Paris! Dear Lord, I LOATHED that Travis man... bloody cad of a dandy he was… and strangely similar to the sniveling Vicomte…"


End file.
